I’m on holiday abroad for a few days and it all feels very strange. There are several reasons, but the first and most obvious is that I haven’t been anywhere outside the UK for over two years. The very act of the preparation: trying to work out what to pack (we’d been watching the weather and it was unseasonably wet and cold), worrying about leaving Finlay our cocker spaniel in kennels for the first time, filling in a ‘locator form’ and getting to the airport extra-early, was all so anxiety-inducing, I nearly turned around and went home again.
I should confess at this point that I’ve never been a great traveller (I blame my parents, but that’s another story) and going anywhere away from home is enough to send me into a tailspin. Where others thrill to the possibility of adventure and discovery, I feel fearful and think only about the things that could wrong from the plane plummeting out of the sky or all our luggage going missing, to the likelihood that we’ll get mugged at gun-point, run-over when looking the wrong way at a zebra crossing or fall ill with some terrible life-changing affliction. All of the above have happened to people I know, at one time or another, and every time I hear another tale of a holiday disaster of some sort, I feel vindicated, knowing that my constant catastrophising is perfectly justified.
NOT JUST A HOLIDAY
We have come to Spain for my Mother-in Law’s 87th birthday. She’s been a living here for over 25 years. She’s a remarkable woman: bringing up four children on her own, on a teacher’s salary back in the 1960s and 70s in Scotland, taught her to be feisty, independent and resourceful and that hasn’t changed much despite her age. She adores her family and talks about them endlessly to anyone who’ll listen, so the prospect of the coming together of the clans for a big birthday celebration, was a treat she was looking forward to immensely. My husband had organised the occasion and managed to get almost all of the possible 11 children and grandchildren together for four days.
Unfortunately, the birthday celebrations took place three weeks ago. We, as it turned out, were not here. As we were completing lateral flow tests the day before flying, my husband uttered the dreaded words “Oh dear, I seem to have a very faint positive line here”. Our trip had to be abandoned, my husband took to his bed for several days and the party went ahead without us. “Oh well, c’est la vie” we said, “we shall rearrange and go in a week or two”. Perhaps, anyway, we decided, it will be good for the birthday girl to have two bites at the cherry and we shall be able to spend more time with her rather than getting caught up with everyone else. We booked new flights and arrived here last Tuesday – in the rain.
THE RAIN IN SPAIN
It’s been cold, dull and wet for more than four weeks, and we had rather hoped it might have warmed up a little by the time we arrived. This is the worst weather, apparently, that the region, has known for over 100 years. Everyone we see is in the coastal town is wearing boots, trousers and puffer coats. I, fool that I am, have brought all the wrong clothes. There really is no excuse for this: the weather forecasts these days are usually quite accurate and a quick look at the Metoffice app gives a pretty clear indication of what one can expect in any given country or region. But I couldn’t quite believe it was going to quite this miserable. “Do you like this jumper?” I asked our hosts on the first day. “Why yes”, they replied, slightly unsure why I was canvassing comment about a nondescript blue, chunky, polo-neck, “the colour really suits you”. “Good” I replied, because you’re going to be seeing rather a lot of it. It’s the only warm thing I’ve brought”
I’m used to Spain in high summer when just walking a few steps from an air-conditioned apartment brings on a sweat and even a thin cotton dress feels like too much against the skin. We are staying with my husband’s brother and sister-in-law in their gorgeous villa (the newsletter I shall be posting for paid subscribers later this week, contains video of their garden). We had imagined lounging by the pool, slipping in for the occasional dip and long lazy lunches at tapas bars in the sunshine. Instead, the pool cover has remained well and truly closed, we scuttle from one indoor venue to another wrapped in hats, scarves and gloves (my sister-in-law has lent me clothes), and my bikini will definitely not get an outing on this trip: the very thought brings me out in goose-pimples.
Spanish houses are brilliantly designed to be a cool refuge from the summer heat and this one is no exception. What they are not designed for is cold and wet. At the moment, the tiled floors feel cold underfoot, even the loo roll feels damp and we’re all going to bed at night with extra blankets and hot water bottles. On the plus side, the large stone fireplace has had a cheering log fire in it most nights, the fridge is crammed with good food and there’s plenty of red wine.
MORE WORRIES THAN THE WEATHER
The weather, however, is the least of our worries. Now that we’re here, there’s another, much more serious issue to deal with. Hours before we left home for the airport, we got a phone call from the family to tell us my mother-in-law had been rushed into hospital with a suspected stroke. We had no more information than that, so really didn’t know what we were going to find on our arrival. Our journey was thus conducted under a certain amount of tension and dread as we waited for more news and wondered what the situation might be when arrived. As we pulled up outside the house in our hire car late at night, my brother-in-law came out to meet us, help with our luggage and welcome us in to sit by the fire with a drink and an update.
It was, as it happens, much better news than we had expected. Having carried out exhaustive tests, the doctors had reported back that, despite her symptoms of confusion and loss of speech, it wasn’t a stroke after all. It was something entirely different and much less serious, but she was badly dehydrated, had an infection and, most worrying, extremely high blood pressure. Having dealt with all these issues, and happy she was improving, they agreed to let her go home so she could see us. She is getting better every day and we have been spending time with her at her apartment and on short trips out. She still cannot recall all the words she wants to use, so her speech is peppered with the word “thing” and “things” a lot, as she tries to recall the names of the car and the garage, pen and paper and other, everyday objects. She is uncharacteristically quiet and subdued.
DEALING WITH THE UNEXPECTED
So, our celebratory trip has turned into something different, with hushed discussions and family pow wows about concern for the indomitable matriarch. She has always been a force to be reckoned with and amazingly fit and able for her age: as recently as last year she crewed on one of her regular sailing trips and only six years ago, when she was 81 and her husband 72, headed off with him to Asia for seven weeks, with only a backpack each and a budget of 20 euros a day between them, to discover Thailand, Vietnam and Cambodia. To see her now, diminished, is extremely unsettling and, of course, raises questions about how she will manage in the future. She is lucky, then, to have family who care and will make it their business to ensure that, as she moves towards her ninth decade, she is surrounded by the love and support she needs to make these latter years good ones. It is serendipitous that she got to spend quality time with most of her grown-up grandchildren a few weeks ago, while she was on top form, and equally so, that we are here now.
Little of our holiday has ended up being what we expected, but then life, as they say, “often throws you curve balls”. My husband refers to plans not working out as one intends as “thwarted intentions” and I think this too is a good descriptor. I take the view that there are always reasons for why things happen and, while they may not be immediately apparent, they will at some point become clear. Right now, I’m looking forward to arriving home to see the dog, having my familiar things around me and enjoying the 16 degree sunshine we left behind in England. Oh, hold on, one of my daughters has just sent me a message to say it’s snowing….
So true